The Princess From Beyond The Wall
by MostTulip
Summary: They had known each other, once. But that was before; before he joined the Night's Watch, before her father named himself King Beyond the Wall. It had been a different time, and they hadn't expected to see each other ever again.


**This is the replacement fic for Mance Rayder's Daughter. The original has been deleted. This chapter has not been beta read yet, which I will correct soon. I post notes and updates on my profile page, so you can check there occasionally.**

* * *

The Southerners took longer than expected to become aware of their presence, or find them. Marissa had counted at least seven days between their arrival in the Wolfswood, and the ambush on their camp.

She had thought the worst part would be the climbing of the Wall, and for the most part it was. But the waiting, the tension and fear, weighed heavily on everyone's consciousness, to the point where it was driving all of them mad. Even the calmest of the group were barely able to keep calm, and tempers flared easily. But they all had their orders, and while Free Folk kneel to no one, they were all loyal to her father. Even to the point of death. Which, she was reminded daily, was the likely outcome.

The Southerners did not take well to Free Folk, and it would be hard enough to convince them to allow even someone as young as she among their ranks. The probability of sparing a dozen adults and bringing them into their home was near impossible, and they were all more than prepared for that outcome, however much they did not wish for it. There was more at stake than their petty lives, and if this meant that those that they cared about would have a better chance, they would accept tenfold. The loyalty used to surprise her, for Free Folk were not known for such a thing. Having seen what her father did for them, though, had led her to understand why they would give their lives so his daughter could attempt to infiltrate the stronghold of the Southerners.

Still, for all that they were prepared, the attack came as a surprise. They knew these woods better than the Free Folk, a distinct advantage over them, and they used it for all it was worth. Her people had posted some sentries, and she suspected that they had been killed easily and silently, leaving their camp vulnerable to the oncoming attack. Marissa awoke to the sounds of the skirmish, having chosen to sleep a ways away from all the others, and hidden in the shelter of the trees and underbrush around her.

They had expected an ambush like this, hence her distance.

She did not have a clear view, though it was horribly obvious that they were outnumbered and losing quickly. No survivors, then, except for her. She allowed herself a brief moment to close her eyes, absorb the reality that there were people that she had befriended that she would never see again. Living beyond the Wall, she thought she would have gotten used to it by now. Yet every death of a friend left her feeling off balance, empty, for the days following. Her uncle said it was the same for him, and she wondered if it was because of her southern blood, since her mother's brother felt it as well. Or maybe they just hadn't gotten used to the Free Folk's ways of living, even after all this time.

Once the moment had passed, she drew her knife from its sheath. Her hands shook slightly, and she steadied them as best she could. She brought the point to the palm of her left hand, and cut across the flesh. Her breathing increased rapidly at the pain, and she took several deep breaths to calm herself. A good, clean cut, and warm blood washed over the rest of her skin. She cleaned the blade on some spare cloth, before bringing it to her cheek and repeating the action, this one smaller and shallower. She smeared the blood from her hand on the side of her face that did not have the wound.

It had been advice both her father and uncle had given her. The lord stark was a good, honorable man, and if he found a young, injured wildling girl begging for her life, he may be quite tempted to spare her. So they hoped. Their whole mission rested on Lord Stark's decision to spare her.

She sheathed the knife again, and tore enough cloth to bandage the wound on her hand. There were already several bruises on her skin; some from training, and some from the journey, which had still not faded. Slowly, carefully, she crawled out from her shelter, making sure they would not find her immediately. As soon as she was sure she had not been seen, she hurried away from where they could easily find her. She planned to circle the camp a few times, and if she had not been found, then stumble across some of the Southerners on accident.

Her feet were nearly silent as she moved across the forest floor. It had not taken her very long to master the skill of light feet in this terrain. And with little else to do all day but prepare, she'd had plenty of time to make sure she wouldn't attract anyone's attention the moment she moved her foot.

Marissa had circled the camp twice and stopped, surprised to find that all of Lord Stark's men had entered the camp, when a blade was suddenly pressed against her throat. Whoever her attacker was stood behind her, and she did not have to fake the fear she felt.

"Turn around, wildling," they said, with a slight tremble to their voice. Whoever they were, they sounded younger than she expected, and some of the fear abated. She did as they ordered, pivoting slowly on her feet until she came face to face with her attacker. Before they could see her face, she made sure to fix an expression of fear and desperation on it. The blood from her cheek had run down to her chin, and neck, to her tunic.

The boy - and he could not have been anything but a boy - was certainly no older than she. Dark hair fell to his shoulders, and some over a long face. He was barely taller than her, and lean, too. He gripped his sword tightly, knuckles turning white, yet his arm remained steady and his stance confident. A boy, yes, and likely one that had never killed before. Perhaps this boy could help her.

"Please," she said so low it was almost a whisper, eyes wide. "Don't kill me."

His eyes, which had been filled with steely conviction before, now appeared uncertain. He did not lower his weapon, nor did he remove it from its position at her throat. Still, he was not eager to kill her.

She had raised her hands to show that she would not attack, and he moved his gaze from the stained bandage on her hand, to the wound on her cheek, and to the blood smeared on her face. A frown appeared on his face, and he must have noted that she carried no weapons except for the blade at her hip. Which she had not made any move for.

"Please," she murmured again, for good measure, shrinking ever so slightly.

"What-" he began, before stopping himself. Again, he frowned, then decided to continue. "What's your's name?"

"Marissa," she breathed.

He repeated her name. "Marissa. You speak strangely for a wildling."

"My father, he- he was from the Night's Watch. Said was abandoned by his brothers before my mother found him. Said he served some lord before he had go to the Wall. He raised my brother and I." Some of it was true. Some of it was a lie. Her uncle had encourage her to use some of the truth when she was asked questions. "He's been dead for years now. My brother takes care of me." At that, she lifted her hand to the wound on her cheek as if it was habit, wincing when her fingers made contact with the cut.

Marissa thought she could see some sympathy in the boy's eyes but whatever emotion it was disappeared behind his mask. She was impressed; normally, she was good at reading others. This one was used to hiding his true feelings. She wondered why, then dismissed the thought. Now was not the time to wonder.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the horses that came crashing through the trees. Several men, another boy, and one riderless horse. Two of the men approached them, one with his own blade drawn. Immediately, she could tell the one that had not unsheathed his weapon was the Lord of Wintefell, Lord Stark. Her father had described their general appearance to her, and he matched what she had been told perfectly. She also noticed that the boy that had been holding her at sword point looked remarkable similar. His son, she reasoned, the heir to Winterfell.

"Lord Stark," the boy said, "this wildling has surrendered. She has not attacked, and cooperated so far. If we were to bring her with us, she may be able to tell us what these wildlings were doing south of the wall." Marissa had not been expecting the boy to act in her favor so soon, though she was glad for it. With any luck, Lord Stark would listen to his son.

While some did not seem pleased, one of the men outright laughed. "Take in a wildling? She would sooner kill us than take an order. I say we kill her now." Some voiced their agreement.

"Lord Stark, please, she is as old as I am. She had made no attempt to escape yet, and has not caused any harm or violence. I do not think she would be foolish enough to attack us." The boy's attention had been on his father, but when he finished he had turned a glare upon the one that had spoken before him. The other man only sneered at him.

She decided now would be a good time to speak up. "Please, my lord, I beg you to spare me. I will do whatever you ask, please."

The Lord of Winterfell regarded her for a several tense moments. She feared that he would say no, and have her killed then. If that would be the case, she was sure she'd be able to knock the boy before her down and escape into the trees. She could probably lose them, and the horses may serve to hinder them.

Thankfully, such a plan would not need to be put into motion. The Lord of Winterfell nodded his head slowly, and said, "We will take her with us." He addressed his son when he said, "If you believe what you have told me, then I trust you. But you will watch over her. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord," the boy answered, bowing his head.

"Now, we will return to Winterfell." With those words, Lord Stark turned his horse and began leading them away. The other boy brought his horse and the riderless one to them. He handed Lord Stark's son rope, which was used to tie her hands together. "A precaution," he told her, then helped her up and into the horse's saddle. He climbed up behind her, and reached around her to hold the reins.

As they began moving her leaned in closer to her, and murmured, "My name is Jon."

She smiled, craning her neck just a little ways to see his face. "Thank you, Jon." She meant it.

* * *

Marissa had lived in the shadow of the Wall all her life, had risked her life climbing it to get to the south, and Winterfell still managed to take her breath away in awe. She'd never seen anything like it.

She'd never seen one of the castles the Night's Watch had inhabited, and only had her uncle' stories from before for reference. The castle was much bigger than she'd expected, it's grey stone towering high above them. The Southerners rode into a large stone yard, what she assumed to be the courtyard. They halted when they reached the stables, the older men already handing their horses reins off to younger boys, who then lead the animals inside the stables.

Jon's presence behind her disappeared, leaving her back exposed to the cold as her source of warmth was removed. Twisting her head around, she watched him reach the ground and look up at her. He paused in thought before he reached his hands up to her waist.

Marissa shied away from the touch. "What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Helping you down," he replied, again reaching towards her insistently.

Her eyes narrowed, and with a small huff of irritation, she gripped the pommel in front of her, swung her left leg over the horses body, and placed her feet on the ground. Even with her hands bound it had been fairly easy to accomplish. Throwing a smirk at him, she said, "I've ridden horses before, too."

There was a hint of anger in Jon's face, but the expression was quickly smoothed away once again. It continued to amaze her how easily he hid his innermost thoughts. Marissa was sure she herself was alright with doing so (after all, negotiations with other clans often required you to appear more confident than you might actually feel) but Jon was a natural. At least, when he wanted to be.

Jerking his head in another direction, he muttered, "Come on." They approached one of the buildings surrounding the courtyard, pushing open a door for them to enter. He lead her through the winding hallways, and though Marissa tried her best to memorize their path, her attempt saw little success. In truth, she was tired. There'd been little food to eat for the past few days, little rest in fear of an attack, and the ambush this morning as well as the emotional stress of watching some of her friends and companions be slaughtered by the people she was meant to now stay with for an unknown amount of time was... taxing. So her ability to recall which turns exactly that they'd taken was a little impaired.

Finally, Jon stopped her in front of a wooden door. Pushing it open revealed someone's sleeping quarters. It had all that she needed at the moment: a large, comfortable looking bed, and a fireplace. The fire was little more than burning embers at that moment, but Jon immediately crossed the room to get the fire started again. Marissa followed him inside, eyes taking in as many little details as she could.

"Is this a room meant for guests?" Marissa asked, even though she could clearly see that there were one or two articles of clothing scattered around the room and the furniture had items on and surrounding them.

From across the room, Jon huffed what appeared to be a laugh. Marissa couldn't quite be sure, as his face was blank as he turned around. "No," he said, "these are my chambers."

She frowned, her confusion palpable from his position. Why had he brought her...?

"It's only temporary. You just... you seem tired, and Father-Lord Stark might need time to get your accommodations settled." He advanced slowly, gesturing over at the bed. "There's nothing to fear. I expect Lord Stark to be ready by the evening meal."

Marissa nodded, uncomfortable in this strange boy's quarters, even if he was the closest thing she had to a friend at the moment. But, she did feel exhausted, and this boy was kind to her. She felt that he could be trusted in this moment, which she was aware could easily change. However, she felt that, had they wanted to kill her, they would have done so already.

And if this boy wanted something from her... well, they were currently in a castle that she could not navigate, surrounded by guards that served this boy. There were much easier ways of going about these things.

As though sensing her doubts, Jon stepped even closer to her, though keeping more than enough space between them. His face was open now, eyes and expression kind and trusting. "Marissa, there is nothing for you to be afraid of. Rest now, and I will return to you for the meal."

As slowly as he had approached, he backed away toward the door. She did not let her guard down until he had left the room altogether, closing the door firmly behind him. Only then did she allow her shoulders to droop and her head to drop. It didn't matter that she had been expecting this very outcome; the knowledge of what had transpired this morning, and all that was to come, weighed heavily on her.

"Enough," she said to herself. Her outer layers she let pool on the stone floor, and she kneeled down to remove her boots. When she slipped out of them, she found the floor to be quite cold, and so she quickly relocated herself to the bed. Pulling the furs tightly around her body, she curled into a little ball. As she slipped into unconsciousness, her thoughts and dreams fled to her home, and she fought to ignore the flaring ache in her chest. She would have to get used to this; there were many more days like this that she would have to endure before she could return.

* * *

 **A/N: I ask that you please please review. It's really hard to stay encouraged while writing a story without any feedback from the audience. Anything and everything you have to say - even if it's just a smiley face - is absolutely wonderful and very much needed.**


End file.
